Page 101 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

But they’re already getting louder. It’s obvious they are going in the same direction, maybe even to the same place.

“Ivy…Harry’s in that house. And my dog Jester…and everyone else.”

“Fuck,” she says with feeling. “I really like dogs.”

Nervous laughter pours out of me as she steps on the gas. I’m not sure why she’s speeding up when the fire truck is behind us.What the heck are we going to do if we get there first? But I don’t tell her to slow down. Those vines of worry are squeezing me.

It doesn’t take long for the truck to catch up, and Ivy pulls out of the way for it to pass us. I watch it, my heart in my throat, looking for some sign of Rowan, but of course there isn’t one.

“I don’t like this,” I tell Ivy.

“Me either,” she says, following them like a speed demon.

There’s another alarm, another truck.

Then a third.

If there had only been one truck, I’d think maybe it was a false alarm. But three? This means Rowan’s with them, definitely, and there’s almost certainly a fire or some other sort of emergency.

It occurs to me that I’m not supposed to be out of the house, and now I’ll definitely be caught, but what does it matter if there’s a fire at the house?

Some things are more important than the rules.

Those vines of worry grow tighter. What if no one remembers Jester’s in there? What if they leave him to get hurt by the fire? What ifRowanis hurt in the fire?

“They’re going to be okay,” Ivy says, but from the way she’s saying it, it’s as if she thinks she can will it to be true. I know that’s not the case. I remember seeing Olive’s grandmother collapse as if it were yesterday. Nanny Rose told us it would be okay too, and it wasn’t.

But I don’t say any of that. Rowan might be…well, I love him, but he’s her brother.

Both of us are tense as she zooms up the long driveway. The sirens are no longer blaring, signaling that the trucks have reached their destination, but now that we’re closer, smoke is drifting in through the car’s air system. I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid before in my whole life.

When we reach the point where the driveway widens, Ivy pulls to the side, out of the way, and parks. We’re at a distance but more than close enough to see the house is smoking like a burning birthday cake, and several uniformed firefighters are hustling about, spraying it with water. A window on the second floor breaks, and flames lick out of it. A frightened gasp escapes my lips.No, no, no.

There’s a group of people gathered to the right of Ivy’s car. A fireman stands with them, in uniform except for the helmet. I can make out Harry, thank God, rubbing his head as if he has lice and a good brushing with his hand might chase them out. There’s Jonah, dressed in red flannel pajamas, and Colton, wearing a reindeer pullover that must have been sent by his mother. Jeff. Marcus. There’s no sign of Nana Mayberry, but then she’s usually not at the house this late. I do make out all of the production assistants, plus the cameramen. They’re okay.They’re okay.Their faces are pale and full of panic, but they’re unharmed.

There’s no sign of Jester.

If Rowan’s one of the firemen who’s bustling around, I can’t tell. The uniforms they wear cover their entire bodies and faces.

Ivy leaves the car with purpose, and I stumble out after her. She grabs my arm and marches up to the group of people. The fireman instantly steps forward to intercept her, even as Harry breathes out, “Oh, thank God, you’re okay,” and wraps me into a smoky hug. I’m trembling, I realize, and so is he.

“Harry, what happened?” I ask him.

Jonah says, “Who are you?” looking straight at me, and I realize he hasn’t caught on to the wig. I tug it off. Then the glasses. I left my pony bag in the car, so I shove them into the pocket of my coat. He reacts with as much shock as someone in one of those makeover montage movies. “It’s you.”

A couple of the other guys address me too, but I don’t process what they’re saying. My gaze is on Harry.

He opens his mouth to speak. Then both of us divert our attention to Ivy as the fireman sidesteps to stay in her path.

“You can’t go any further, ma’am,” he says gruffly.

She scowls at him. “Don’t call me ma’am. I’ll have you know we were in Algebra II together, and we’re very much the same age. I’m looking for my brother.”

The guy swears under his breath, studying her, then says, “Shit. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Where’s Rowan?” she insists, clearly not in the mood for questions. Neither am I, come to that. I need to know Rowan is safe. I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything in my whole life.

“He’s in the house,” the fireman says. “Says there’s a dog in there.”

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